Sanctity of Darkness
by Dark-Elk
Summary: Epic tale about a Dark Templar forced into a mission he didn't want to be a part of to slay the most dangerous person in the galaxy. Rewritten and remastered! CH 3 up at long last.
1. Prologue: The Love of the Craft

Authors Notes: The Love of the Craft  
  
By: Dark-Ek  
  
I've been writing for a long time. Actually, it just seems that way. In fact, I've only been writing a little over a year now.  
  
I first became interested in reading Starcraft fanfiction almost two years ago, on the Infoceptor archives. Reading stories by the well-known greats such as PaxNox, Mayavan Thevendra, and the others made me realize there was a wide community out there that wished to continue the Starcraft saga, and I wanted to help weave the tapestry.  
  
There was only one problem at this point. Up until then, I had never really written anything, and what I had hadn't quite qualified as "good" fiction. Sure, I had written some good papers and required stories in school, but never had I been motivated enough to write something on my own.  
  
Then I read the Starcraft book "Liberty's Crusade", and my entire perspective changed. Less than a day passed from me finishing that book to starting my first story, "A Ghost's Tale". I was rather pleased with the storyline I had crafted, and thought that my writing was the greatest thing I had ever seen. In retrospect, I wonder what sort of drugs I had taken that day, and where I left them. I then found out about Fanfiction.net, one of the greatest websites I have ever found on the relatively worthless Internet, and my story was uploaded within a week of writing. Reviews were mixed, the typical "Good, write more!" stuff that many stories end up with. Taking this as a good sign, I wrote another chapter, and got pretty much the same results.  
  
It was then I tried to do something different, and tried the story "Final Regrets: A Chance Not Taken". I've always thought the title was a little too long for the story, as it barely topped 2.5 pages. If you're interested in reading this story, check "Compendium" under my bio page for the link. It was good, and I've always rather liked it compared to some other things I've tried.  
  
Writers block followed the writing of that story for "A Ghost's Tale", and after the third chapter it was put on hiatus, where it remains today. I've decided that the story will probably never again see the light of day, unless I decide I want people to make fun of me, because I've come to terms with how bad it is. It could be because it was my first story, or because I was writing from the point of view of a girl, which I have little experience with, ^_^, or just because the story itself wasn't quite good enough. But that was all I really needed to start me writing.  
  
Another short story followed, "In the Mind of the Fodder" which has been called my worst short story by a number of reviewers, mostly because it was written referencing a private joke between me and a friend. Apparently not everyone believes that dropping a nuclear missile on a single Zergling is funny. LOL. That can also be found in the "Compendium".  
  
That was when I believe I started this story; that entire period of time is rather hazy to me. This story has always been my favorite, and the one that I believe I will actually finish at the length I want it to be, and tell the story I want it to. This story is "Sanctity of Darkness", featuring an unnamed Dark Templar forced into a daring strike upon Kirona, spawn of Kerrigan, and leader of the Swarm. In my own rendition of the Starcraft Universe, the Hybrids are present, and they are an indomitable force, featuring a wide array of powers and aptitudes. The conflict with the Hybrids has dominated my stories since, and only a few of the ones since the beginning of this story HAVEN'T featured the Hybrids in some way.  
  
The fact is, this is actually the THIRD posting of this story on FF.net. The first time I posted it, FF.net continued giving me errors, preventing me from posting the chapter updates. So I torched that, after I had already received 10 reviews sadly. Then I reposted, and that managed to receive 8 reviews before me removing it earlier today.  
  
Why did I remove it? Basically because of my artistic beliefs, which are the real reason I'm writing this little prologue.  
  
I've always been of the belief that you should strive to make your writing the best it can be. ALWAYS. And the one thing I've realized after it's been pointed out to me by a few different people is that my writing style and ability has changed dramatically. I'm not saying that I'm some "uber- author" or that I'm extraordinarily popular. I'm merely stating the facts about my writing career. As of this date, not counting the reviews that have been lost, or this story, I have 10 contributions up, and a grand total of 77 reviews. Should you chose to add in the lost reviews on SoD, I have 95.  
  
I'm not letting this go to my head, regardless of how that last paragraph seemed. I'm merely stating the fact: I am THE MOST active Starcraft fanfic author remaining on FF.net. Rather disappointing, but I'm holding down the fort, keeping the candles lit, and all that.  
  
I'm not alone. There has been an influx of good authors, such as GrimMoody, ZejiHydra, and Jaxom92. All of these I am proud to know and to have read their work. And no, they didn't ask me to put this here either. But again, I digress.  
  
The reason I'm reposting Sanctity of Darkness is that as I looked deep into the belly of chapter 10, I realized that I had lost my focus, my vision, my belief. The story was no longer as good as it could be, and I knew it, as did a few of my close friends who serve as editors and preliminary readers. I was crushed.  
  
This story is my favorite to write, my favorite to tell. I feel as though I'm spinning out an epic that is worthy of the Starcraft name in my own mind. And this should be epic.  
  
I state bluntly, here and now, what this story will be.  
  
First, this story is the first of a trilogy depicting the trials of a single Dark Templar as aforementioned. This story should last about 12 chapters, possibly 14.  
  
Second, there is another story after this, a second part. This will be called "Decay of Sanity" and will again depict the Dark Templar, but.well, I won't tell you any more about that. That part should be again between 12- 14 chapters.  
  
Finally, the third story is going to be called "Surreality of Destiny", returning to the SoD abbreviation unintentionally. That again will be between 12 and 14 chapters. In total, this story will be approximately 45 chapters, not counting the prologues, epilogues, and authors notes.  
  
How do I know? I've already begun work on the second story, and have the entire storyline mapped out with crystal clarity. It will turn out that way. I will post chapters as I complete them, and the version posted here will be their final form, already quite different from the original.  
  
I write because I love to, not because anyone tells me to. Reviews, while nice and appreciated, will NOT dictate the pace of this story as so many other authors are allowing them to. Review if you wish, or not. I'd like it, but not required. Just be sure to review the story honestly. Flames, while not enjoyed, are accepted.  
  
So, I begin my tale, with the first of many chapters, the first of three books.the culminating story of my painstakingly crafted post-Brood Wars universe.  
  
May 4, 2003 Dark-Elk  
  
P.S. If you enjoy the universe this story is written in, you'll probably enjoy pretty much every other story I've written, as even if they don't seem like it, they eventually weave into the greater design. And if you were wondering about the title.well, the word "sanctity" means something holy or sacred, and you should be able to figure it out from there.  
  
P.P.S. If you enjoy Blizzard Fanfiction, please visit Shattered Enigma at . We're the newest Blizzard fanfic site on the web, and host almost 60 stories. If you think you're good enough, drop me an e-mail with your story. 


	2. Chapter 1

Sanctity of Darkness  
  
Chapter 1  
  
By: Dark-Elk  
  
The Scourge was following me, faster than I had previously thought possible, banking at a faster rate than anything organic should have been able to manage. It would be over in a matter of seconds, culminating in the Scourge ramming into my Scout and detonating its body, destroying us both. There was little I could do, but I did what I was able to.  
  
I continued to bank, and then doubled back. The Scourge had not expected this, and flew past me. Although it could turn quickly, it had slower reaction times, and had much difficulty stopping. I used the lead I had gained to do what I could. I messaged the captain of the Tassadar, and quickly explained my situation. Quicker than the eye could track, 3 previously inactive Interceptors launched from the hanger bays, banked and fired directly at the Scourge. Although the first shot missed, the second and third hit the Scourge directly in the side and blew off the right wing. The Scourge gave up all pretense of control and detonated immediately. The plasma splashed against the shields of one of the Interceptors, but nothing appeared to be damaged.  
  
I messaged the captain back, thanking him and acknowledging my debt to him. It is not often a Protoss Dark Templar allows himself to become indebted, and even much less often to a Protoss who was not a Dark Templar.  
  
A debt to a Protoss is near sacred, and you can only become indebted after another Protoss has saved your life. Most Protoss do not claim debts, if only for the simple reason that a debt means that you will sacrifice your life without question for the person you are indebted to. My belief is that if someone has saved your life, you are now living on borrowed time given to you by that individual. It is only just that you may be asked to sacrifice the extra time to serve that individual.  
  
My communication gear trilled softly, signaling the captain's order to retreat. Shaking off the hormonal rush that any Protoss gets when in a desperate situation, I guided my craft carefully into the docking bay of the Tassadar. The docking bay was stationed at the aft of the starship, directly beneath the massive engines. The positioning was reminiscent of a Protoss Carrier, but not exactly similar. The Aiur-class, the type of starship the Tassadar is, is a vastly powerful new ship similarly shaped to a Carrier, but holds powerful weapons, faster engines, and is far larger. The ship had been a coalition design between Khalai Templar, Dark Templar, and our renegade Terran allies. As it was designed by both Terrans and Protoss, the controls were usable by either race. The Aiur-class is able to be fully cloaked, and possesses variants of both the basic Terran lasers and the Yamato gun. The lasers had been supercharged with a new variant of Vespene gas found deep within my adopted home world, Shakuras, making them more effective against biological units such as the Zerg and their structures. The awesome Yamato gun had been radically redesigned, and instead of a small nuclear explosion focused by magnetic fields, it featured a matter/anti-matter combustion, focused by advanced Protoss shielding technology. Protoss scientists were confident that it could crack the surface of an average sized planet, or entirely demolish a moon, but how they received this data I am unsure. It had never been tested as far as I was able to discern, as our leaders viewed it as a weapon without honor, killing your opponent without giving them a fighting chance, similar to the beliefs of Tassadar, the greatest Protoss hero who ever lived.  
  
Only five Aiur-class starships had been built so far due to their massive resource requirements. The ships construction alone required the complete strip mining of a moderately rich moon just for minerals alone. The Vespene gas quota had been only barely made on each ship, and had essentially drained one of the rear-guard bases, Triaxis Prime, current base of operations for the Tassadar. Of the five, three were in the hands of offensive Protoss fleets. Another was stationed around Shakuras, a member of the defensive fleet that guarded the new Protoss homeworld continuously. The last was in the hands of our renegade Terran allies, the rather large force that had been formed from the foundations of the rebel group "Raynor's Raiders", led by the most valiant James Raynor, killed years ago.  
  
As I shut down my engines, I looked at my display, examining any damage I had taken. One of my shield generators had been knocked out of line, and two of my engines had serious fractures that spanned the entire outer casing. One of the gun pods had been completely destroyed, along with the munitions carried within. How the missiles had not detonated and shredded my fighter would remain a mystery to be solved another day. I summoned the technicians and engineers to begin work on it.  
  
There are three distinct designs of Protoss fighters. The first design, the Scout, has been a Protoss fighter since the dawn of Protoss space flight. The Corsair, designed by the Dark Templar and first used during combat in the time known as the Brood War is the second, and has the distinction of being an anti-air attack craft only. The final fighter, the Scimitar, is the newest and most advanced fighter the Protoss fleets possess. It features an advanced meshing of Terran cloak technology and Dark Templar cloaking technology to reduce power requirements by using the energy of the pilot's subconscious mind. The greatest attribute of the fighter is that the weapon loads can be customized quickly, allowing different weapons to be attached to the chassis as missions dictate.  
  
I have no need of such an advanced fighter, as so few exist currently. I continue to use my Scout, as mine is a heavy Scout, with upgraded weapons, armor, speed, and sight range. It is calibrated primarily for upper atmosphere and the darkness of space where I can use the speed to my advantage. My Scout is further modified with a Photon-type Sphere Launcher, similar to what a Photon Cannon uses, but the sphere is faster, and explodes on impact and irradiates the surrounding area. The Zerg, possessing an entirely organic army, are at a supreme disadvantage to it. Only Scourges, the foul Zerg creations that have cost millions of Protoss and Terran lives pose a serious threat to me and my fighter. Our mission today was supposed to be a simple mission, consisting of an attack on a newly grown Hive on the surface of the moon we are currently speeding away from. Resistance should have been minimal at best, but we did not know that the planet the moon orbits had already been heavily fortified into a war factory planet, churning out hundreds of Mutalisks and Devourers a day. We also were unaware the most foul creature the galaxy has ever known, Kirona, the Queen of Blades, had taken up residence on the moon.  
  
Kirona, the Queen of Blades, is the spawn of the former Queen, Kerrigan. Kerrigan finally died about 28 years ago after being killed a number of times previous. Something went wrong then, and Kerrigan died finally, and was not reborn into a new body. The Zerg never let go of any genetic material they lay their claws upon, and Kerrigan was no different. The clone Kirona was slowly grown, and had psychic imprinting done to it by the surviving Cerebrates, similar to what Kerrigan went through at the hands of the Overmind before fully joining the Zerg Swarm. The Cerebrates, however, were becoming increasingly disparate with the coalition Kerrigan had formed, and each tried to twist Kirona's mind to their designs. The horrific result is that Kirona is, quite simply put, insane.  
  
Kirona is also far stronger psionically than even Kerrigan was at her zenith. She possesses the ability to launch Psionic Storms larger than even large groups of our greatest High Templar have managed. She also can break down the fabric of space-time and create a pocket of energy similar to an Arbiter's Stasis Field, allowing her forces to deal with them easily. Finally, she is able to twist minds of life forms to her will, enslaving them to the will of her Swarm, and it is truly and solely her Swarm now. There are no more known Cerebrates, save one, guarding their current base on the moon. Kirona slew them all after learning of their treachery during her infancy. The survivor is Griez, the only Cerebrate as insane as Kirona. He also has been empowered with abilities far above the original Cerebrate capabilities, being able to drain nearby enemies of psionic power to better control his armies.  
  
The Zerg, however, are having some difficulties. For it appears that they are fighting a three front war, between the Terran Dominion, the Protoss and our Terran rebel allies, and the newest entrants into the galactic struggle, the Hybrids. Out of all the things in the universe I know, I hate and fear nothing more than the Hybrids. Created by what appears to be enemies of the ancient Xel'Naga using DNA from Terran, Protoss, and Zerg, they have created a race that has never lost in any battle yet. They are practically impervious to damage in every way, as all of their units not only regenerate their own tissues; they also have the gift of vast psionic abilities. Every unit, from their lowly workers to their strongest siege engines can manipulate minds, create Psionic Storms, and other abilities so arcane no Protoss scholar has yet to determine how they are even theoretically possible. For although they control many different powerful attacks, they possess an ability far stronger, the ability to teleport. Unless you have faced a Hybrid warrior in battle, you can never truly understand how fearsome this power makes them. Terrans find Dark Templar such as myself rather eerie, primarily due to our cloak ability which enables us to get into poorly defended bases, but the Hybrids just teleport directly into the base and slaughter everything that moves before moving on to another engagement instantly. An Observer once watched a single group of around a dozen basic Hybrids attack and utterly decimate eleven Terran bases in under an hour, before falling prey to a nuclear missile detonation in the twelfth. Minutes later, another group teleported in and finished all survivors. Their only weakness appears to be a lack of sufficient genetic material. So after every battle, a group of their Reapers goes to all the bodies, not caring which race, gender, or age, and extract their genetic material, and then destroy the bodies.  
  
We are unsure as to how they were created, although the heroic Dark Templar Zeratul once told the New Conclave that he encountered a being on a distant planet designing these abominations. Abominations.I cannot even say that word without knowing the falsehood concealed in it. Although I fear the Hybrids, I do have deep respect for their prowess in battle. It appears that while the Xel'Naga may have created their "perfect race" in the Zerg, their enemies have created a far greater race bent on annihilating all life in the universe. Our alliance has only met with the Hybrids on a field of battle once, and all our forces save one were annihilated or captured. The lone survivor was Zeratul again. He seems to have great skill in evading death at the hands of the Hybrids. I have great pride in Zeratul, for we are indirectly related by blood. He is the current commander of Triaxis Prime and leader of all Protoss military forces in the Koprulu sector.  
  
I tried to shake off these oppressive thoughts and began heading towards my quarters. Although not extravagant in size, they are larger then they would have been on a standard Carrier. I have a room with enough space for a sleeping pallet, a small relaxation area, a sanitation area, and a food preparation area, although like most Protoss, I am horrible at concocting anything edible. Typically, most Protoss eat in the lounges, according to their position. I eat in the pilot lounge three decks below my quarters. All food in the lounges is prepared by robotic servants, which were given to us by the Terran commander who is allied with us. Not many Protoss have met him, although I saw him in an operation briefing once. He was troubled by deep thoughts of depression for a lost comrade, and his emotional state was. . .unstable at best, and he rather reminded me of a famous Terran, although I wasn't able to determine which one. I have great respect for our Terran allies. While their ships are slightly inferior, they have more native ability in piloting, although I would rather be killed than admit that verbally.  
  
I thought-messaged my quarters and gave it my estimated arrival time. Quarters on Carrier and Aiur-class starships have links to their occupant, allowing them to have a "power down" and a "power up" mode to decrease power usage during a battle. There is no sense heating an unoccupied quarter during battle when the power could be better used powering shields, for if the battle is lost the temperature of the quarters no longer matters.  
  
I passed my wing-mate in the hallway. We nodded at each other and continued on our way. I am sure he caught the anger I let show on my face. Anger on Terran faces is easier to see than Protoss, but most Protoss, unless blind, can tell from the general manner of a Protoss warrior when they are agitated. Wingmen are a relatively new concept implemented after seeing survival rates increase drastically in Terran forces. Not many Protoss are proficient at guarding a partner, like mine. He should have been taking care of the Scourge, and instead I now own a life debt to the captain. 


	3. Chapter 2

Sanctity of Darkness  
  
Chapter 2  
  
By: Dark-Elk  
  
I walked dejectedly to my quarters at the aft of the Tassadar. Pilot quarters are always near the fighter bays on any Protoss capital ships for the simple reason that it allows pilots to get to their fighters quicker in case of a surprise attack. I stepped in front of the door to my quarters and issued a mental command to the computer within. Scanning psionic signatures was a relatively new advance in Protoss technology, but nonetheless prevented access to classified areas quite well. It is impossible to fake a psionic signature, making systems that rely on them far more secure. The door beeped quietly once, and I stepped into my darkened quarters. My legs were instantly assailed by a pair of small, furry animals. I reached down, and slowly stroked the fur of the two felines I had rescued from a Terran base.  
  
Most Protoss have no affinity for animals of any breed, save as food and beasts of burden. Occasionally, Protoss commanders find it relaxing to have a small animal in their quarters, but the majority find them to be unnecessary frivolities. I, however, have a bond with this pair of young felines. During an assault on a moon held by Dominion force, I was part of a small team of renegade Terran and Protoss forces. I was assigned to take the central command area along with a pair of Terrans and my wingmate.  
  
My Warp Blade flashed through the darkness, beheading the small force left to defend the command area. The Terran Gauss Rifles decimated the resistance, but not without return fire. Once my wingmate and I tapped into our mastery of the void, bending the light around us, our Terran comrades were the only visible target. Fire converged on them from all sides, chipping off the power armor they were encased in. My wingmate and I rushed around the room, trying frantically to kill the enemy Terrans before they were able to slay our comrades, but we were not fast enough it seemed, as both Terrans cried out in quick succession before slumping to the floor. Rage clouded my vision, and my body whirled into the dance of combat. It ended all too quickly, leaving my wingmate and I standing alone in the command area, surrounded by a perimeter of strewn Terran carcasses. My wingmate crouched down to the ground then, finally allowing himself to feel the pain of the bullet that had embedded itself in his leg.  
  
After sending my superiors a thought message telling them of our success and requesting them to send a medic team to help my wingmate, I explored the quarters adjacent to the center. The opulent furnishings quickly indicated that the quarters had been occupied not long before by the Dominion commander. After rummaging through the drawers and cabinets, I turned disconsolately towards the door, disappointed at their emptiness. There sat the two felines, seemingly guarding the door to the room, both looking slightly malnourished.  
  
Anger flooded my mind at the thought of the cowardly Dominion commander who had not cared enough to bring them with him. They were both quite different, with one have long, light blue hair, and the other having short black hair with a white head. I stroked the fur of the light blue one, marveling at the soft, rich feeling of its coat. The small black one began to rub its head against my leg, demanding my attention. My other hand rubbed the fur of its neck, and then I made my decision. Removing my pack from its place on my shoulder, I placed it on the ground and watched as the two cats hopped inside. I picked it up, and began to close it when a small blue paw flew out, lightly tapping the top of my hand. I moved my hand slightly, and watched as the paw again flew towards it. I smiled, removed my hand, and closed the bag, taking care to leave enough space for air and comfort. Satisfied, I stood up and exited the room, nearly colliding with the medic that had come to tend to my wingmate. The slug was quickly removed, a healing patch placed upon his leg, and then the medic left the room. My wingmate slowly stood, obviously favoring his injured leg. He stretched for a few minutes before giving me a curt nod and exiting the room.  
  
We returned to the Shuttle that had brought us to the surface, making our rendezvous time with ease. The other strike teams had been similarly successful, but many of the Terrans had been lost to the battle. Only a small handful of Protoss had perished, a testament to our greater strength and innate combat skills. The Shuttle streaked towards orbit, the surface of the moon rapidly falling below us.  
  
It was to our great surprise that the majority of our strike force was not present in the sector. Of the three Carriers and four Battlecruisers that had entered, only a single Battlecruiser remained now. They hailed us, and we quickly learned the reason for the abrupt disappearance. The Zerg had initiated an offensive in another sector, and the colony sorely needed as many reinforcements as could be spared. Orders left by the Protoss commander told us we were to dock with the Battlecruiser and disembark. The Battlecruiser would be the one returning us home instead of the poorly supplied Shuttle.  
  
Our Shuttle lumbered towards the Battlecruiser on an approach vector, and we were given an excellent view of the battle scarring the ship had incurred during the attack on the moon. The name, Savior, seemed almost eerie to me, but my wingmate seemed to pay it no heed. Finally we reached the docking bay, and our Shuttle entered slowly, the pilot apparently as unfamiliar around Terran ships as most Protoss. We exited the Shuttle quickly, and the Shuttle departed almost immediately, seemingly eager to return to Protoss space. A Terran aide greeted us, and offered to take us to our quarters. We resisted, instead requesting a tour of the ship. The aide seemed flustered, but a pair of Marines who had fought alongside us brushed their way to the front of our group and motioned for us to follow them.  
  
The first thing I noticed about the Battlecruiser was the differences between it and the Carrier. The largest and most visible difference is that Protoss craft, whenever possible, are designed to look pleasing to the eye. The Battlecruiser was entirely about utility, with no square inch being wasted on luxury. We followed the Marines through the cramped hallways, having to stop numerous times to allow hover carts filled with spare parts access to areas behind us.  
  
After winding our way through a myriad amount of tunnels and access corridors, we reached our destination. It was a dimly lit room, with numerous tables against one wall, and a long counter with stools in front of it. Behind the counter, a Terran was mixing various liquids together and serving them to Terrans seated in front of a very long, thin counter. A group of Terrans rose from a table near the entrance and came towards us. They greeted us and told us we were in a Terran establishment called a "bar", and offered to show us its function. Curious for the knowledge, we walked with them towards the counter. We sat, which is not easily done, as Terran legs are quite different from those of the Protoss, not only in size, but in the direction they bend in. The Terran I sat next to introduced himself as Private First Class Kato Namara. He ordered us a few drinks, which seemed to be the general purpose of the counter. We conversed for a while, and I was quite amazed at how easily he had adapted to the odd way Protoss-Terran conversations operate since Protoss rely on messages sent directly mind to mind.  
  
I remembered the felines, and removed my pack and placed it on my lap, simultaneously giving a brief explanation to PFC Namara about them. I opened the bag, and they immediately placed their heads at the rim and looked all around the area. PFC Namara laughed a bit about the feline's curiosity, but then seemed to lapse into brooding depression. Searching his mind, the root of his discomfort was readily apparent; as a child he had owned felines until the Zerg overran his world, and he was forced to leave them behind during evacuation. The death of his beloved felines was one of many things that drove him to join the military, and eventually the renegade Terrans. I offered him one of the felines, but he declined, and explained that aboard the Battlecruiser they were not allowed companion animals. I felt sad, but we continued to talk about his past. He asked a few times about my past, but all of his probes were carefully dodged; Dark Templar are secretive by nature, and I am no different.  
  
Finally the drinks he had ordered were served. He slid one towards me, and told me to drink it. Most Protoss do not have mouths like Terrans. However, Dark Templar do; it's a long and complicated ordeal involving painful surgery, but in the end it is worth it, as Khalai Protoss require longer time to eat food then Dark Templar. The mouth we have, however, has no vocal cords attached, so we continue to use psionic messages like the Khalai Protoss. I raised the glass and studied it for a moment before downing it in one gulp. It wasn't particularly large, but the feeling of it going down my throat was quite.odd. It burned slightly and had a strong, rich flavor. The Terran gaped at me, and then told me it was a type of beverage called "alcohol" which could be quite intoxicating. He further told me that if I was a Terran, I would have been rendered unconscious from the quick absorption of the alcohol into my bloodstream. I smiled at him, and told him that the Protoss physiology is quite different from Terran, and that the digestive system doesn't meet the bloodstream until much further on. By then the food or beverage is totally broken down into vitamins and minerals needed for sustenance, thus eliminating the debilitating intoxication he spoke of.  
  
PFC Namara sat and thought over what I had said. I later learned the Terran phrase "wheels churning in his head". He suddenly bolted upright, and leaned towards me conspiratorially. I followed suit, and he told me his idea. Dark Templar are not known for humor or practical jokes, but PFC Namara assured me of the ease of this trick.  
  
He called the other Terrans in the bar over. By this time, the other Protoss I had arrived with, including my wingmate, had already retired to their temporary quarters, and thus the bar was devoid of any but the Terrans and myself. PFC Namara quickly spoke with the other Terrans, and proposed a wager. I was to drink 20 "shots", a certain size of beverage, in under 5 minutes. If I managed to do it, the other Terrans would owe PFC Namara a large amount of money. They quickly agreed with feral grins plastered on their faces, smug in their inadequate knowledge of Protoss physiology and intent upon relieving PFC Namara of a substantial sum of money.  
  
With the beverages ordered, the Terrans grouped around me, assaulting me with inane, mindless questions such as "How many kills do you have?" and "Can you teach me to cloak?" The drinks arrived quicker than before, and the server remained, promptly dropping a stack of credits into the already enormous pile on a nearby table. I counted the glasses to verify there were twenty, and then nodded to PFC Namara, indicating my readiness. He pressed some buttons on his chrono to set the timer, and with a quick grin yelled for me to begin.  
  
I began to enjoy the game almost immediately; after drinking the first few glasses quickly, I began to lift the remainder of the glasses with psionic power to amuse the Terran group. The looks upon the Terran faces were indeed enjoyable as the glasses orbited around my head, each one dipping close enough for me to drink before landing upside-down on the table shaped like a pyramid. I eliminated all of the glasses in less than four minutes, secure in the knowledge that if I hadn't been enjoying myself so much I most likely could have concluded within a minute. The Terrans began cheering despite having lost a large amount of money to PFC Namara and myself. We gathered up the credits and placed them inside a bag the server provided speechlessly, and we left the bar. After making our way down two stairways, up another, and through countless halls, we arrived at PFC Namara's quarters.  
  
PFC Namara leaned against the doorway and began to laugh. He laughed, quite uncontrollably, for many minutes before looking up. He asked if I wanted any of the money he we had won. I thought it over, and decided I had no use for the Terran currency. I did need help with the felines I had rescued, however, and I voiced my concerns to him. He laughed again, a quick bark this time, slapped my shoulder, and agreed to help any way he could. I asked him to write everything he knew about the care of the felines and give it to me as soon as he could. In the meantime, he gave me a quick summary of what they could eat. I thanked him and left, setting off to navigate the Battlecruiser to find my temporary quarters..  
  
PFC Namara is the only Terran I would possibly view as a friend. Other Terrans are far too. . . uninteresting. I have fought with him on many occasions, and he fights with honor and unmatched skill for a Terran. He was promoted shortly after winning our bet to the rank of lieutenant, and his squad is currently one of the top-ranked elite squads of our Terran allies stationed aboard the Tassadar.  
  
I stood up, finally done with reminiscing about the past, and walked into my small food preparation area, my felines following as closely as the Scourge that had forced me to give a life debt. Sighing, I pulled out a bag of cat food from inside a compartment, and poured some into a dish on the floor. I laughed at the felines tenacity as they devoured the food; the dish was clean in a matter of minutes, and the felines trotted off to find somewhere to sleep. Rinsing out the dish, I decided I needed rest myself. I walked into my cleansing area and turned on the shower.  
  
Standing underneath the nozzle, I luxuriated in the feel of water pouring over my coarse skin. Being a fighter pilot is one of the most exhilarating things I know, but such stresses require a counter-balance. The stream of water finally slackened; the nozzle received an angry glare as I stepped out of the shower. Water aboard Carrier and Aiur-class starships is rationed heavily, and the shower had drained my allotment for the day.  
  
I walked out into the main portion of my quarters, exhaustion weighing heavily upon my shoulders. I noticed the cats curled up upon my sleeping pallet, and I decided to join them. Laying down slowly so as not to disturb them, my felines nuzzled up closer to my body, and we slipped into the depths of slumber together. 


	4. Chapter 3

Sanctity of Darkness  
  
Chapter 3  
  
By: Dark-Elk  
  
I awoke a few hours later, refreshed from my slumber and my shower. Looking at the clock on my wall, I could see that the pilot's lounge would be open now. I was hungry, and my culinary skills leave much to be desired. The last time I attempted to prepare my own food, I was forced to expend my water allotment for the day to put out the flames. Since then I have left my food preparation to those more skilled than I.  
  
I stretched my arms and legs for a few minutes, trying to limber my body for the day ahead of me. I drew my Warp Blade, experimentally slashing it through the air a few times. My blade was a weapon of beauty; the hilt was intricately carved, fitted to my hand perfectly. It felt like an extension of myself, something natural. . . exactly how a true weapon should be. I slid it back into its' sheath, looked around my quarters to confirm that I wasn't forgetting anything, and then flung my pack over a shoulder and stepped out of my quarters, carefully making sure my felines hadn't followed me through.  
  
The pilot's lounge was a few decks below me and closer to the docking bays than my quarters, but not far enough for me to want to use the lifts. I started walking leisurely through the corridors, greeting the Terrans and Protoss I met along my journey. Entering the pilot lounge, I walked to a window and quickly ordered my food. It amazes me how much the Terrans have influenced our culture. Before, food was individually prepared with care, taking great amounts of time for each meal. Food now is flung together in a maelstrom.  
  
My food arrived in a few minutes. Another Terran influence was evident on my tray, a Terran delicacy, "French fries". Lt. Namara had introduced them to me shortly after our first meeting. They were quite good, but especially when combined with a gourmet Terran sauce, "ketchup". I don't know the composition of either, nor anything of their nutritional value, but they tasted good, and that is really all that matters sometimes. I quickly consumed the fries and ketchup. I slaked my thirst from the small cooler of water nearby, and began to look for someone to sit near.  
  
I spotted my wingman, and walked over to him. I called to him, telling him of my need to speak with him about what had happened earlier. He turned away from his food tray and looked up at me. I told him of my many problems with his skills as a wingman and as a pilot. He sat motionless through my tirade, and as I began to end, he stopped me by raising his hand, and inquired quite simply about my whereabouts during the skirmish. Not comprehending immediately, I broke off my speech and thought over what he had just said. He had just insulted my piloting skills.  
  
I closed the short distance between us in a few long stride, drew my Warp Blade, and challenged him to combat. He stood, threw his cape around his shoulders, and accepted.  
  
I knew it would be a quick fight. I have known my wingman for quite some time, and knew that he was extraordinarily inefficient while fighting. In simple moves, he exerts far too much effort and is easily blocked, leaving himself open for a vicious counterattack.  
  
He drew his Warp Blade, and entered a standard fighting stance. I assumed my own stance, a slightly more fluid stance than most Protoss are comfortable using, because I am taller than average, but it allows me to use my speed to my advantage. I beckoned towards him tauntingly with one hand.  
  
With a roar of fury, he flew towards me, cape flashing behind him, and Warp Blade raised high. I blocked easily, and feinted lightly towards his chest. He blocked, but with the wrong side of his blade, and so he was unprotected for a minute. I used the millisecond it gave me to brace myself, and then perform a quick backflip.  
  
He stood there as I completed the backflip, and as I landed, he rushed towards me. I deftly dodged to the left, tripped him, and with my right elbow struck him in the back, giving him greater forward momentum. He crashed to the floor, and skidded for a few feet, before rising to his feet, powering down his Warp Blade, and bowing his head in embarrassment and shame. My eyes flashed brightly once, but then I nodded towards him, and turned towards the nearest window. I ordered us a double order of French fires and ketchup, hoping to use the food as a sort of peace offering to clear the conflict between us. My wingman stood up, brushed himself off, and returned to his former seat. I claimed the seat across from him, and waited patiently for our food. A conflict, regardless of the scale or skill required always gives me a ravenous appetite.  
  
Honor duels are quite common in Dark Templar culture, especially aboard large starships and protracted tours of duty. After all, while not in battle, we must keep ourselves physically fit and agile. Fighting our brethren is the way typically used, in the form of honor duels. Honor duels also serve to solve arguments, although not critical ones, such as command orders or the like. Our Khalai brethren typically prefer instead to make use of training Citadels to increase speed and psionic power. Unfortunately, Citadels are only built on select planets, and the nearest is on Triaxis Prime, quite some distance away.  
  
Our food arrived, and I quickly devoured the majority of my share. My wingman barely consumed any of his. I inquired about his state of hunger and whether he shared my passion for French fries. He said that although he was hungry, and did have a like of French fries, he was unable to eat. I continued to eat in silence, knowing that he would eventually make known his problem to me.  
  
He waited for a few minutes more, while slowly eating a few fries. Finally, he told me of a meeting he had earlier with our ground commander. I have no great like of our ground commander. I find him to be far too arrogant and boisterous for a commander. Then again, he is a Khalai Zealot, so that explains much. He failed his last trial to attain the rank of Templar, and has since spent most of his time either challenging other Protoss to duels, which is uncommon for his strict Khalai nature, or training alone in his chambers.  
  
My wingman passed along the knowledge of an imminent ground assault on the main planet in the system we had just left in full retreat. The near- jovial attitude I had gained after his defeat instantly dissolved. A ground assault.on the moon surrounding a full Hive infested planet? Suspicions arose immediately. Why would we assault a minimally defended moon when Zerg reinforcements were nearby? I asked my wingmate about this, and he was unable to offer any suppositions about the strategy, although he did come up with a humorous theory relating to the sanity of the captain of the Tassadar. After all, we both knew the New Conclave would never condone a course of action as suicidal as this. The Terran renegades must have affected our captain's mental facilities. I laughed uneasily, but stood up quickly, and told my wingmate of my intent to visit our ground commander. After all, I was slightly higher ranked then my wingmate, and perhaps the ground commander would be able to tell me something my wingmate wasn't privy to. I exited the pilot lounge and began heading towards my ground commander's hallway. 


End file.
